Writing Fatigue

Over the last two weeks, my time has been spent writing applications of different kinds. As a result, I haven’t blogged about anything. Most days I’ve felt like there hasn’t been anything to write about, but on the days where I felt I did have a story to share, the amount of energy spent on writing application essays, or e-mails drained me. I haven’t experienced that as much in the past three years. When I started out this blog, I felt like I’d never tire of writing, or of sharing. Yet now, spending so much time in front of my computer, with my keyboard, I do feel drained.

There are different ways to address this I suppose. Taking time away from writing has helped me out in the past, and there’s nothing to suggest that won’t work this time around. However, there’s also the other angle to everything – that if I don’t write, and I continue to use my fatigue as an excuse for not writing, I may perpetuate an everlasting cycle of not writing at all. That wouldn’t sit well with me, particularly given my affinity for attempting to catch my rainbows with this blog.

Naturally, I’m going to force myself back into my writing.

I’m also doing this because I’m acutely aware of what the next month might bring with it – and it’s not something I want to leave uncaptured.

Autopilot: Breakfast Edition

While speaking to my mother earlier in the day, she told me how she was thrilled that I was able to enjoy the same breakfast every day. Well, virtually every day. As far back as I can remember in this lockdown, I’ve eaten the same food for breakfast each morning. Cereal.

Speaking to another friend in the evening, I was telling him how the past four months have been this massive experiment in my life, all pointed toward answering the question: if I was given all the time in the world, how would I use it?

We’ve often heard about these industry leaders who declutter their brains by delegating or removing unimportant decisions in their life. Prominent examples include Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg – with their wardrobes. Net-net, the goal appears to be some form of freeing up brain space.

I’ve been thinking about that a fair amount – how much of my life can I set into autopilot? What decisions can I eliminate from my life to retain the same, or increase the amount of joy I receive, while being more efficient? My initial response was that I didn’t want to set anything in autopilot because I personally enjoy the process of decision-making a fair amount.

However, given my difficult relationship with my mornings, I’ve figured out that the more I can bring myself to enjoy it – the more I can work on changing that relationship. One way I wanted to do that was to go back to where I was when I was in school – my morning breakfasts were a quick bowl of cereal before running off to the bus. I enjoyed that bowl of cereal a lot, because my mum would sit opposite me and ask me about what the day had in store. When I was studying, morning breakfasts were a bit of breathing time before the day’s onslaught.

The only reason I’ve gone into autopilot mode with cereal is to recreate that feeling. I’m reaping the rewards of it.

Wakin’ Up Is Hard To Do

The title of this piece is a reference to the classic Neil Sedaka song, Breakin’ Up Is Hard To Do. There’s a Wakin’ Up Is Hard To Do as well.

This is a universal truth. It’s difficult to wake up each morning. I’ve met people who enjoy waking up, who are happy to be at the start of a fresh day, but I haven’t met somebody to whom waking up comes with ease. For me, waking up feels like rebellion. Every cell in my body wants to continue sleeping. All my brain cells tell me to sleep more too, but in an act of defiance against all of them, I push aside my comforter and wake up.

I was terrible at waking up at University. My roommate can attest to this. At my worst, I was a representation of Newton’s First and Third Laws of Motion. I remained at rest until acted on by an external force, specifically, my roommate. When said external force acted upon me, I simultaneously exerted an equal and opposite force on that body, namely, “I’m awake, will lie down for another 5 minutes.”

My history of being this human being goes way back to my school days. At that point, my mother was the external force I relied on. No alarm clock would ever work.

This pandemic, and the lockdown period, has seen a massive change in how I approach my sleep cycle – and sleep in general. First off, I’ve understood it’s value and impact on my life a lot more. My sleep cycle at University was non-existent, and being the kind of person I am, I thought that I’d be able to sustain that forever. It felt like sleep was just time spent not being awake, and not doing things, which is something I find difficult. A lot of reading later, I am convinced about how essential sleep is in my life, and how much having a regular sleep cycle can improve my days, and my quality of life. I’ve also noticed a significant impact on my mood.

Naturally, I’ve tried to sleep more.

The other thing I’ve been trying to do is become a morning person. Given how difficult waking up is, this has not been easy at all. It’s been a 3-month struggle, and it’s likely to be a struggle for quite some time, but I’m finally at a place where I regularly wake up before 6AM and stay away from my phone, actually get things done.

I always assumed I was a night owl, and I was most efficient at night. Now that I look back, I don’t think that’s fully true. I’m most efficient when I don’t have social media to distract me – which is late at night, when nobody uses social media, or early mornings – when it’s easier to stay away from social media.

What I find when I wake up in the morning is that the day feels longer. By extension, I’m beginning to feel like there’s more I can do each day, more time to seize, to relax when I want to, when I need to.

I’m not completely a convert though. There are moments, and days, when I’m up late at night, where I feel like Michael Scott, “I’m an early bird, and a night owl” – because I find it tough letting go of what now feels like it’s been a lifetime habit.

Maybe waking up will get easier soon. My new solution is to try waking up and smiling immediately. Subconsciously trick my brain into believing it enjoys this activity. I’ll let you know how that goes.

On Education

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to pick up my phone and call my high school Principal. My parents have been asking me to do this for years, but it felt appropriate on that day, given that I had closed off one part of my learning journey, and was taking my next steps. I’ve maintained a good relationship with most faculty who have taught me or interacted with me, so it didn’t feel awkward picking up the phone and calling her.

I’m so glad I did.

You see, about two years ago, my mother met my high school Principal on a flight to Dubai, and they spent a day together. Something I appreciate tremendously about my parents is that they’ve never forgotten that my teachers are human beings who have lives outside of teaching classes. My HKG teacher actually came home to visit the day I graduated from preschool and got me a cake and everything. While hearing these stories may seem out of place to others, for me, interacting with my teachers outside of school, while maintaining a respectful distance, has been the norm. I remember the day my parents spent with my Principal vividly. They called me up that evening and told me how fortunate I was to have been led and mentored by someone like Ma’am.

It was the first time in five years I was speaking to her, but the warmth in her voice felt like it had never left. Once I introduced myself, I could see Ma’am smiling, and was instantly taken back to meetings we had with her when I was on Student Council, where most feedback she had to give us was always encouraging and offered with a patient smile. At one point she said, “I didn’t think I made an impact on you kids because I never taught you”. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

At my school, as with most schools, the Principal represented a bridge between the administrative day-to-day and the teaching day-to-day. Ma’am made an impact on us because she chose to do so. This was true of most Management staff at our school – their doors were only closed when they were in meetings, and if you had something you really wanted to take up with them, you were free to do so. The first time my mother interacted with her was in Grade 8 when she requested I be allowed to take 9 subjects for the board examinations instead of the usual 8. Ma’am agreed, with the caveat that the extra subject would be difficult to timetable, so the school would provide support as best as they could, but I would have to self-study a fair amount. Ma’am was a part of the decision-making board that awarded me School Captaincy, reposing faith in my ability to lead. She was a part of this dressing-down we got given as a French class when we failed to study for a vocabulary test in Grade 9, but a part of this motivational brigade that allowed 3 of us to study the subject further in Grades 11 and 12.

Someone like that leaves an impression on you instantly. She told me how she continued to teach even today, and all of the outreach and support she offered to younger schools without access. As someone interested in engaging with academics, I always wondered whether it was a life-long journey, whether that passion would carry you through forever. Ma’am’s own admission says it does.

After catching her up on what now seems like the trivial details in my life, our conversation moved onto other pastures. I was able to ask her about her philosophy toward education. Her reply came instantly, backed with the most heartwarming story of somebody she taught who returned home to his village in Nepal as an ayurvedic doctor – that teaching, and education, has to be child-centric. Given that I plan to work with the Law, I’ve always wondered how this is possible at higher education. How is it that you can make a mark on somebody who comes to learn from you pre-moulded? Her advice is something I’ll keep with me for a long time: learn their stories.

I look back at my own University years now, fresh from completing them, and all good faculty learned our stories. Each of us developed a rapport with the faculty that sought out information about us – and tried to encourage our individual potentials. I aspire to do that one day.

Similarly, though, she reminded me of how crucial it was that I engage in improving access. I instantly thought of one of my batchmates who has practised this for the past five years. As part of Community Outreach programs at school, I taught English and Math at a Government School, but only when provided the opportunity from school. Ever so often, I’d see posts on social media from this batchmate of mine about his experience teaching at a school close to our campus, and how rewarding that was. It was only in our final year that I was able to ask him a little bit about it – and learn a little bit more about how he put it into practice so early on in his life. His reply is in my memory: education is a goal that’s bigger than ourselves.

My roommate has told me something consistently since our first year. All of this education stuff, all of these degrees, they’re all things we’re getting for ourselves, but in a way, society is entrusting us with this knowledge in the hope that we can improve society in some way.

For the past two days I’ve been stirring my own thoughts about education – led by memories of this batchmate, my roommate, and my high school Principal. That’s what led to this post – I thought it was a worthy place to come back to if I ever had doubts about teaching and lost sight of the idealism I possess today. I know I want to join the academy – I want to read, research and learn continuously. I’d like to teach courses that leave students as enthralled by my favourite subjects as I am. My outlook to education, and to learning, at this point, is that, humans are born learners. It’s why we smile, for example, when we learn how to walk as babies, or pick up new skills when we’re children. It brings us joy. Somewhere in our lives, something makes us forget that. As a teacher, I’d like to try reminding people of that joy.

Most of my teachers did that for me. They crafted this atmosphere in which I loved learning. So much of what I want to do is derivative of how I was taught things – at school, at University.

But I want to engage with school students as well, if I teach at the University level. I’d like to work on improving access to education – which isn’t something I can do in theory if I’m just at Universities, there’s such a high barrier to access. I think I want to volunteer in schools more, and help in whatever way I can. Right now, I’m teaching a module on Constitutional Law and Civics to high schoolers at my alma mater, but that’s just a trial run. I’d like to expand that and teach it in my regional language, Kannada, to as many schools possible.

I only hope people don’t sleep in my class because they’re bored. If they’re tired, perhaps.

Sporty Feelings

As an avid sports fan, I often cross over the line of respecting sportspeople and not hating on teams and persons associated with these teams. For example, I support Manchester United, and I am a fan of the Red Bull driving program, but Sebastian Vettel (and consequently, at present, Ferrari) as a driver. Consequently, for me, it’s almost a natural response to resent Liverpool Football Club and Manchester City, and despise the fact that Lewis Hamilton and Mercedes are winning so consistently. As a fan of the Los Angeles Lakers, I’m extremely disappointed that another team has dominated the NBA for so long, and as a Royal Challengers Bangalore supporter, it is disheartening to see Chennai Super Kings and Mumbai Indians do well year after year.

I’m going to focus this entry on individual personalities. Over the course of the last two years, as Lewis Hamilton wrapped up his fifth and sixth Drivers World Championship titles, I’ve grown increasingly disgruntled with seeing him win so regularly. I’ve watched a lot of videos, and with Formula One in particular – and this can be extended to several sports, there is a lot of effort put in by the team (in the construction of the chassis, for example) that complement the driver’s ability to drive quick. What becomes clear is that Hamilton’s dominance is down to there being perfect harmony, efficiency and success across both fronts. I noticed that I was getting frustrated at him for winning because Vettel was fading in comparison. I also particularly disliked listening to the “Get in there, Lewis!” that I was forced to hear at the end of pretty much every race I watched. In a very weird way, I found myself developing this feeling of contempt toward Lewis Hamilton. Similarly, when the Roger Federer-Rafael Nadal rivalry was at it’s peak, I found myself disliking Rafael Nadal (a position that has changed considerably). Recounting a list of sportspeople I have, at some point, disliked, is far too tedious an exercise.

Essentially though, I’m fairly certain these sportspeople could not care less for my opinion. I am just a consumer of the entertainment they put on at differing levels of sporting talent and ability. So as Formula One is about to make a return, and with the things that have happened over the last couple of months, I’ve found myself wondering:  Where does my dislike stem from? Is it worth it?

This essay at its core will attempt to address that question. If you want to stop reading here, the answer is: No, not worth it. Stems out of strong passion for team/personality I support for sporting ability owing to playing style/success/joy received while watching said team/personality.

Essentially, like I’ve outlined above, it feels like any dislike I develop only appears after I develop a preference for a team or a person. Supporting Vettel between 2010 and 2013 was essentially not liking Alonso to win a race (despite knowing how talented he is as a driver). It doesn’t come from anything else, usually. Unless I see repeated instances of individuals and public figures doing things I disagree with: that’s another reason I usually find it difficult to like them.

The reason I think it’s not worth holding onto those feelings anymore, stems out of something bigger. This period, the coronavirus period, has given me the chance to really think about how I look at sports and entertainment and public figures generally. It’s become more evident now than it was before that these individuals have personal and private lives – lives that some of them have opened up to us, and some of them have left closed to us over the past few months. They’re all incredibly talented as sportspeople to be at the pinnacle of their sports, but it’s this personal side that’s really shone through recently. Holding on to the dislike, I found it difficult to understand the kind of projects that these drivers, for example, commit themselves to in their free time, and the kind of things they think about and express outside of Formula One. Something I noticed was when some celebrity I disliked expressed an opinion I agreed with on an issue, my brain seemed to switch on a “be wary” mode, that claimed “oh they’re doing it for the PR”, while an identical statement by somebody I liked already led to the “oh good on you for showing support” mode.

I don’t think that should happen.

Now, how do I reconcile this with being a sports fan with clear preferences?

I think I’m going to appreciate sporting talent more – become a little more objective. While this is hopefully not going to lessen the amount of passion I have for the club/individual I support, I think I’m going to appreciate talent and skill far more now. Offer compliments and say good things when someone I don’t support wins (unless there’s genuinely something to be ticked off about). What I’m hoping this will do is reduce the amount of distaste I have for them. It’s too negative a feeling to hold on to.

The second is to observe the kinds of things these individuals do away from their primary arenas if they choose to share it with us. A lot of individuals may do things they don’t share with us, but several of these public figures have public platforms – and they can use these positions to influence so many things around the world. A lot of them do, and I’m woefully unaware of those happenings, of the kind of good they’re attempting to generate with their spheres of influence. I’d like to follow that more keenly, if nothing, to understand who these people are more – because they’re just like us – they’re people. None of them have done anything directly to hurt me: so I don’t think I should hold any negative sentiment against them.

A recent example of this is looking at everything Lewis Hamilton did. I’m glad he spoke up when he did, and he’s got a lot of conversation in the paddock about the exclusivity of Formula One, which is already financially inaccessible to so many individuals. There’s a broader conversation about diversity it’s triggered off, and I do have a heightened level of appreciation for Lewis off-track for how incredibly he seems to have matured over his career learning from his past, and how he manages so many things at one go without letting them affect his main passions. I’d like to learn that. There’s also the six world championships which I have to admit come out of a level of domination we haven’t seen in a while. He’s in a class of his own at the moment.

I really don’t know why I’m trying to be so objective about something that incites so many emotions in me. I’ve cried when the team I’ve supported has lost Test matches in cricket. I didn’t sleep when the Netherlands lost the 2010 World Cup Final and I was supremely ticked off the day after India lost the 2017 Champions Trophy Final. All of those, however are examples of chances being grasped at better than the opposition. I’ve got to admire and respect that.

A large portion of this thinking is also inspired by “Hate to Love” on the Cricket Monthly, the AB de Villiers edition is here.

Goodbye, GNLU

Dear GNLU,

This evening you informed me that my seminar papers had been cancelled, effectively concluding our final-ever semester together. In the few hours that have passed since, I have not stopped thinking about you for even one moment. You and I both know that we will not forget each other, and that there are never really any goodbyes. Simultaneously though, we both know that we need the closure, to complete a journey we both embarked on five long years ago. I may never get to hear what you have to say, but I do know that I will wait forever for a chance to hear your voice once more. I don’t want to leave things unsaid.

The first time I heard your name, I was in Grade 11. Another one of your companions told me tales of the people you took in and the families you built. I learned about your tenacity – your willingness to push forth against the toughest of circumstances. I understood that not everybody viewed you the same way, that you split opinion, but that you were unwavering in your objectives and proceeded with them nonetheless. I heard of your swaying moods, your hallowed halls, your infrastructure, and your grey walls. I was enamored by the way your name rolled off my tongue, a single syllable when pronounced as a word, and endeared by how unassuming your companions were.

I just wanted to be your friend.

So, of course, you rejected me, and twice, no less. I flew from Bengaluru to Odisha, and Odisha to you so many times, I was certain I qualified for frequent flier miles. I understand now that perhaps you doubted my commitment. After all, I loved Odisha. In those three weeks, I settled in, made friends, and tasted Law for the first time. For a long time, you remained a distant dream. I thought of you when I went to sleep, and thought of you when I woke up each day. I struggled with an internal dialogue, urging me to try to strike up a friendship once more. I caved in, and I am so glad you opened up to me.

In the past five years, we have become best friends. We’ve spent eight months together each year, and even when we’re apart, I introduce myself using your name. We’ve organized events together,  and traveled around the country with each other. You’ve taken me places I had only dreamed of as a child. Literally, as a child. I was 12 years old when I fell in love with the idealistic image of the United Nations. You took me there. I was 15 years old when I first heard of the Jessup. You took me there too.

Most opportunities I wanted, you handed me on a silver platter. Timely internships, project resources, University-level debating, editing books, starting a blog. You just made things happen. You didn’t care too much about what it cost you, or whether I reciprocated your affection. You just made sure I had every single thing I needed to be happy.

You knew me so well, you knew I would enjoy trying things I hadn’t ever thought of – especially the food you showed me. Onion rice, Aloo tikki Chole, cheese paranthas? I knew none of these, but I love them now. Your favourite things became my favourite things: from music, to clothes, to the committee t-shirts I collected each year. You introduced me to your culture, your language, your other friend circles. You trusted me with that, and I am ever so grateful.

You helped me rediscover my passions of the past by reminding me how beautiful they all were. I was scared to quiz after Grade 8, yet, you showed me the way, sending along guides to help. I thought I would let go of Model United Nations after I left school, but year-on-year, you brought me back to a society of people I cherished. There were some things you couldn’t convince me about – public music performances remain one of them.

You remained my best friend, but you were never the jealous kind. You wanted to share me with people, and you gave me a community I loved. Across five years, you introduced me to people four years elder to me, and four years younger to me – so I always retained some inter-generational perspective (I cannot believe your new friends were born in 2003). I hope you never forget how blessed you are to have such a diverse set of people in your immediate circle, and that you forever ensure everybody gets to appreciate it.

Just like any other set of friends, you made an impression on me by imparting to me the strangest quirks. Today, when the electricity trips in my house, I long to hear someone scream “Shoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooot” into the void. All text needs to be formatted and justified in Garamond, 12 point, and I have begun to love blue font in e-mails. I love completing and making citations uniform. I am hungry at 1:30AM in the morning, 6PM feels strange without prayer, and cricket on the television is not the same as catching a glimpse of the sport as I scurried past the field you had. I double-check my WiFi is connected once I log-in, and each time I move my laptop around my house, I double-check that I wasn’t logged out automatically. I am unable to use a toilet without double-checking that the bidet and the flush work, and the door locks properly.

However, in my opinion, you were not without your flaws. You were reactive at times, not as responsive as you ought to be. You were discriminatory, harmful, and hostile. At times, you were a bully, attempting to shape people in your image, not fully allowing them to find themselves and flourish on their own. You were judgmental and authoritative. Some decisions you made were without reason. Sometimes power went to your head, and you failed to account for the opinion of your friends, your custodians. I hate how rigid you were about “attendance”, and how much stress you caused everybody around exam-time.

To be fair, though, I was not without my flaws either. You brought out the best in me, but you also brought out the worst. When I made mistakes, I am glad that you called me out on them, because I know they will never be repeated. When I made mistakes, I am grateful you forgave them when you could, but took distance from me when you could not, because it was that decision that avoided us both more pain. Each time though, as you have with so many others, and as you will continue to do, you made it a tremendous learning experience that made me better.

You taught me so much, friend. You taught me about love, unconditional, and conditional, and about loss. You taught me about people. You taught me about the Law in more detail than I knew before, and about where my own morality lay. By teaching me about injustices, by showing me what they looked like, you guided me toward my understanding of what I believe justice needs to be. By helping me understand hate-culture and hate-speech, you taught me where freedom of speech lies. While I am grateful I learned them in a protected environment, a smaller circle than what the outside world is, sometimes I wish these lessons were taught another way, I genuinely do. Ragging, for example, is something I hope you leave altogether and wean all your friends out of too.

Having to split off from a romantic partner hurts. Having to split off from a friend hurts equally. This one is no different. It sucks that we’ve come to the end of the road, because I look at some of our happier times and I wish we could turn back to those moments and live in them once more. We both know that we’re past our expiry date now though. We’ve given each other everything we could so far. At least, I know you’ve given me everything you had to give, and I know I tried. I only hope you feel the same way about me. Just with other splits though, it is going to take time to adjust to a new normal.

After five years of letting you dominate my facebook and twitter, I will now have to resist the urge of sharing your posts on social media. Unless you do something incredible, which I am sure you will, repeatedly, and soon – you will have a share from me, and a public display of affection and pride.

Thank you for giving me a home when I felt like I was losing one. Thank you for being my physical family when I missed my family who were far away. Thank you for giving me the privilege of your association, and your company, which I will miss dearly.

Thank you for making me the human being that I am today. I know this is bittersweet since we will no longer be together, but life has a funny way of connecting us all sometimes. I’m fairly certain we will see each other again soon.

I know we are going our separate ways today, but please, never forget, I will always be rooting for you. I will root for you to succeed at everything you choose to do. I will support you to be better, to improve, to innovate, to progress. We aren’t going to be as close from today, but if you ever need me, I will be there to help.

I see the good in you. The bad, I see as your unrealized potential. That said, I’m always going to be proud I am your friend.

Love,

Tejas

Cars

Today, a large amount of the day was spent watching reruns of Top Gear and The Grand Tour. When I was a child, we had a subscription to Gulf News, which came with these incredible supplements from time to time. Thursdays was Entertainment Plus, Fridays was Friday, and Wheels – I can’t remember when Wheels was, but those were the happiest days.

I fell in love with cars at a very young age. My father first spotted this affection I had developed, when he bought me toy cars, and encouraged it by helping me remember the models of cars and teaching me how to identify them on the road. He also took me along to the car showroom every time he went, whether it was for a cleaning service, or for a regular servicing. I remember falling in love with racing games too – the Need for Speed games that my mother’s cousin so kindly burned CD’s for me to ply on my grandfather’s computer in Bangalore, and the Need for Speed: Most Wanted which was my first PSP game. Aside from this, of course, there was the Midnight Club games, and Grand Theft Auto, games that my friends had which involved a lot of car racing and learning cars better.

I was thrilled about these and even did a scrapbook one year of supercars. For a very long time, I was certain I wanted to go into automobile design or engineering. I drew images of cars every chance I got. They were poor sketches, but I was so proud of the kind of configurations I imagined for these cars – the power they would have, the kind of technical specifications that would make driving these cars a luxury.

I’m a Formula 1 nuthead, and I’ve started playing the games online, which has naturally led to me falling in love with the sport more. Watching Top Gear today was a nice blast into the past, a fun reminiscing of my childhood dreams.

I still have a Lego set of a car I need to finish one day. Aside from that though, the only big celebration I’ve had that’s been car-related has been the day I got my Drivers License. Of course, the day my mother trusted me enough to sit in the back seat without running commentary was another milestone.

Watching Top Gear today was also a moment of attempting to reconcile my love for these fuel-guzzling machines, these engineering feats with my desire to ensure the environment is preserved and protected. There is a love that Top Gear hosts and motorheads have for these big, bulky engines, and developments of these engines. A large amount of the driving experience is determined by engine power, and engine sound.

I spent a chunk of time watching Formula E as well. That series looks incredible, and I hope we’re able to get to a point with electric vehicle technology, or hybrid technology that’s both fuel and cost-efficient, while preserving the noise/sound/experience that motorists enjoy.

I also really hope Codemasters incorporates the Formula E series into their F1 games. Those street circuits are fabulous. Would be so much fun to drive.

Cooking Coincidences

Today, for lunch, without any prior discussion – I cooked cabbage curry at home, my mum made cabbage curry at her house, and there was cabbage curry at my grandparents’ place too. This isn’t the first time this is happening – it occurred sometime last week with carrot curry, and I think some other day as well.

I wonder how these occur

In my mind, I imagined the cabbage Gods pulling us all towards that vegetable. I’m fairly certain we all cooked it the exact same way: mine with the least amount of salt, and my grandmother’s with the most. Mine with the most amount of spice, and my grandmother’s with the least. I could replay the resistance with which I combated the urge to cook and finish the cabbage, I wanted to eat aloo fry again – but I countered all those forces and reached for the leafy thing, chopped it up and cooked it as rapidly as I could.

Cooking coincidences like these feel like they mean far more when they happen within the family. In a lot of ways, it felt like a small reminder of where I get my passion for food from. Not literally, but in terms of the food I’ve first eaten – the food I’ve loved all my life. I could go eat all the pasta and pizza in the world, but I know I’d want to come home to Indian food occasionally. Palya is a reminder of that emotion.

GloPoWriMo 2020: 29/30

Oof, penultimate day – and another year will now go by without writing any poetry at all (but a lot of reading, I would hope). Today’s prompt is to write about a pet. I do not have one, but I love pets. I thought this was a great opportunity to write a humorous haiku:

Tamagotchi

I wanted a pet,
So bought something virtual,
It broke in a day.

 

GloPoWriMo 2020: 28/30

Martha Dickinson Bianchi’s description of her aunt’s cozy room, scented with hyacinths and a crackling stove, warmly recalls the setting decades later. Describe a bedroom from your past in a series of descriptive paragraphs or a poem. It could be your childhood room, your grandmother’s room, a college dormitory or another significant space from your life.

Gosh, today’s prompt is a doozy. So many rooms to pick from.

A-201 

The bedroom was to the left of the hall,
Its door right behind the tiny desk I called my office,
You wouldn’t have considered the possibility that 3 slept in the room,
But for us, it never felt too little.

Straight ahead from the door was the attached bathroom,
A small alleyway to the right led you to the rest,
A large king-sized bed to stretch out your legs,
White cupboards lining the walls to store clothes, books, the very best.

Originally there was a large, Alder Hardwood Table,
Resplendent in the light that hit it,
A Windows 98 Desktop computer rest comfortably there,
“Tell Me Why?” played on the VCR mounted in the right corner top,
On a small black television that I watched from the bed.

Soon, however, my parents wanted me to be independent,
So one summer, when I was in India – a remodelling was done –
The computer table disappeared altogether, the VCR did too,
I came back to find a bunk-bed in its place: capacity – one.

I’ve played cricket in the space between the bed and mine,
Chipped off edges of walls with tennis balls,
I’ve hit my head on the edge of the bed with a towel on my head
(Ruining my kindergarten photo no less),
And hurt myself in that house countless times.

However if I search within myself to find, really
Find the person I am,
It seems to me it all started in that room, because
Today I have a room with a bunk-bed, with cupboards underneath,
I keep my books neatly organized, stacked, yet, food in the room,
I do not eat.

The royal blue on my pin-board matches those old cupboards well,
And the wood in my room is Alder too,
You may leave houses and rooms, it is evident –
But they will never leave you.

GloPoWriMo 2020: 27/30

Today’s prompt is to write a poetic review.

Curd Rice 

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways –
I love thee as the perfect palate cleanser
Between courses in a meal,
The ultimate finale to them all.
I love thee as my meal itself,
With tadka, with pomegranate,
Or the simplicity in plain serving,
I love thee on plates,
In bowls,
And from banana leaves,
In English,
In Kannada,
In Tamil, and Hindi – even in tongues I don’t speak,
I love thee across continents,
Europe, the Americas, and
Africa too
I’ll find you to in Antarctica if I had to,
Mosaranna, I love you.